Cold As Ice
by Grimoire of Thorns
Summary: I figured I'd start off with a classic unsolved mystery: the details of Kate's ice-cube trick. Just a glimpse at what it brought to my mind. Set in Season 6, but no spoilers. T for language and reasons that should go without saying. My first story, so, uh...cheers to that I guess. Anyway, enjoy.


_For Allie. You resonate (and resemble!) in what follows.  
_

* * *

"Listen," Castle began, and by the slightly patronizing tone in his voice Beckett knew she was in for it. "All I'm saying is that if you missed me could've just called. Getting yourself subpoenaed in order to cut the conference short, well, frankly it's a little embarrassing. A grand gesture on your part," he conceded as she stifled a smile and rolled her eyes, "but a little extreme, and no small abuse of power. I would've waited. Who's watching Ryan and Esposito in Miami? They shouldn't suffer a lack of supervision because need your fix."

"Get over yourself," Beckett deadpanned, but amusement quivered through her weary shoulders.

"They're probably in some seedy nightclub right this moment," the author feigned fretting, "a little tipsy, dancing poorly to Latin hip hop, surrounded by women who, you know, _shake it_."

"I do know," Kate confirmed with a husky dip of her voice. A smooth lunge of her pelvis into his derrière nudged Castle's hand off course from sinking the key into the deadbolt on his front door.

"Gyrating is scientifically proven to disrupt male brainwaves and lead to poor decision making," he lectured. "Those boys don't stand a chance. Oh well," he added airily. "On your head be it."

"Um, hello? Tell it to the DA's office. I didn't exactly beg to leave behind those sunny skies and sixty degree winter days." She nudged him again pointedly, sending the key wide of its mark for the second time.

"Don't tell me you're sticking with the whole 'it's a coincidence' defense. That is so weak. I'm being honest here, okay? Because it's what good husbands-to-be do. I expect better from you than coincidence."

"I expected you to have me inside by now," the detective returned. "I guess we're both shouldering disappointment. You know, that actually makes me feel closer to you. Aww," she added sappily, then nibbled the tip of her tongue and squeezed his butt. "Lookie, Ricky. We're bonding."

Castle reached back to swipe blindly at her groping appendage. "Don't accost me with those fancy federal interrogation techniques. I'll establish rapport when I'm good and ready. Not a moment sooner."

"You wanna skip right to the waterboarding, hmm? You're a very brave man, Mr. Castle, or very foolish."

"Now you sound like my barber," he grumbled, and she laughed, hugging him from behind. Her fingers skimmed through his copper hair, which was as reliably unchanged from the norm as the loft he led the way into. The author took her coat with an answering stroke of his digits into her honeyed curls. "Wait," he coaxed before leaning to hastily hang both their articles up. "Okay. Go ahead." Blue eyes slid closed as she kicked off her heels with an exaggerated flourish and slid them out of the way. He grinned broadly and nodded with satisfaction. "Ah yes," he rumbled deeply, "the sound of Detective Beckett coming home to me for the night. It never gets old."

"Neither does your creepiness," Kate assured him, looping her arms around his neck.

"Romantic flair, creepiness—potato, po-tah-to." One of his arms slid around the circumference of her waist. "I'm just glad we're together in order to disagree."

"Can we agree I need a quick shower?" A throaty chuckle emerged when he scrunched his lips to one side of his mouth in consideration, followed by a yelp of surprise when he suddenly buried his face in the unbuttoned neck of her dress shirt. A laugh spiraled up and out. He rocked her bodily with a burrowing nudge of his nose into the valley of her breasts, but his arm around her kept them close. Kate drummed his shoulders with her fists. "Get off, you heathen!"

"Later," he promised, almost too muffled to be intelligible. "Can't we cuddle first?"

"Says the guy stealing second base."

Exploring fingers rose to her back, each hand mirroring the other as they circled her scapulae, first grazing lightly with his nails and then dragging against her with appeasing firmness. Oh yes, it was good—the sensation of masculine strength and his particular brand of it. "Stealing is such an ugly word. I know these things. Writer."

"You only moonlight as an insufferable perv, huh?" Beckett sucked in a breath to feel the warm, wet glide of his tongue exploring the lacy boundary of her right bra cup. "O-okay," she stammered, pulling back a pace sharply. "Don't…get me going. I want a shower first." She presented a stern digit before his nose and waved it in negation. "And dinner."

Castle cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Any other demands?"

Beckett lifted her chin defiantly. "Yes, actually. I wouldn't say no to some music. Something light."

"Is that all?"

A brief nibbling of her lower lip failed to produce further inspiration. "Assuming you can't manipulate the flow of time, bend the laws of physics, or enlighten the world with a blinding bolt of good sense, I believe it is."

With a grave expression her companion revealed, "I can make a pencil look like it's made of rubber."

Kate whistled approval, grinning. "I got tricks too."

"Oh yes. Trick and treats—with some tricks that _are_ treats."

"How did you get so lucky?"

"Same as anyone: I sold my soul."

"Aw."

"I said: Devil, give the next best thing to Cookie Crisp cereal and Saturday morning cartoons."

"Wha'? That's how you rate me?"

"It's high praise!"

"You'd have to be high to think so. Or ten years old. It's a shame in any case. Heaven won't be the same without you."

An air of doubtfulness encompassed him. "What, are you planning on scaling the wall when St. Peter isn't looking?"

Kate contained her mirth, narrowed her eyes. "Shouldn't you be cooking?"

"Shouldn't you be showering? Get going then. This honey-do list isn't getting any shorter while you're standing here distracting me."

"Why don't you add one more," Kate suggested wryly, stroking the lapels of his shirt. "Fill the ice trays."

The author's eyebrows slowly rose. "Don't you dare tease me with that."

"_Moi?_ Never. I'm just trying to make sure you get your soul's worth out of this deal."

Castle snapped around and tore off for the kitchen. "Shower!" he growled back at her.

_Heh._

Kate went. Discarding a day of travel and general wear and tear wasn't the same at her place. In deference to minimizing her carbon footprint she doesn't indulge long showers. It's too much to resist at the loft. The fancy settings and roominess of the stall are a boon to the master bath, of course. So were the varied scents of soap, shaving foam, cologne and shampoo that have become familiar over the years. But it's more than all of those things. Sometimes just knowing he's out there, perhaps thinking about her as she's imagining him… It's enough to invite a pleasing looseness into her limbs and a casually wound tension deep in her belly.

Coolness prickled at her sensitive skin to finally emerge along with dissipating curtains of steam. The stereo was barely audible at that distance: George Winston tickling the ivory. _Good call._ She barely reached the dresser before getting a whiff of dinner. The immediate growl of her stomach was downright bestial.

"Goodness," Castle issued, pausing in the closet doorway. He backpedaled into it with his hands raised.

"What is that?" the dark-haired woman groaned, inhaling deeply.

"No spoilers." Her partner reemerged barefoot and she saw he'd changed into a pair of khaki Dockers and a plain white t-shirt. "There's no rush. Come and see when you're ready."

Kate hummed agreement and went to dinner in her towel.

Castle pulled out a padded stool at the island in his kitchen and patted the seat. He made her feel lighter than was the case as he pushed her into a comfortable distance from the dining surface. After a return lap into the kitchen he opened the refrigerator and withdrew two blue bowls of avocado salad. Kate bobbed her eyebrows and smiled as one was set before her. A napkin was already in place with multiple forks at the ready. _Outside in_, she reminded herself, and plucked up the smallest of the bunch.

Her host wasn't the sort to stand on decorum. He was more intent on smiling as she bit into a juicy morsel of fruit and moaned softly with pleasure.

The appetizer to follow was pumpkin soup—using a pair of smallish, hollowed out pumpkins for bowls. Kate trilled a soft laugh when he pulled them out of the oven. "Very cool," she confirmed. The cook moved them to a pair of red ceramic bowls before bringing them over. It was a feast for the senses with colors and scents that were almost as engaging as the tastes and textures.

Beckett languished with the soup even as he was dishing up the main course, which she'd already done much to identify by olfactory analysis: ginger pork curry. It was searing even by her standards of spiciness, making her eyes moisten as she reached for the pitcher of ice-water, but it burned so good. She couldn't stop.

"Not too stuffed I hope," he commented when she pushed her bowl away at last.

A decadent smirk embraced the contours of her mouth. "I think I can squeeze you in."

Blue eyes opened wider. "I meant for dessert."

"Me too."

"St. Peter is probably listening right now," Rick admonished.

"Let's hope he's not watching as well." She sat up straighter upon the stool and grasped the towel where it was joined in the middle of her chest. It loosened teasingly under her guidance. "Not if he wants to stay canonized. Unless… You playing hard to get with me?"

"It's kinda funny: to get my answer you just have to rearrange the words from the question."

Kate lofted an eyebrow at first, then grinned and winked wryly.

"How about that preview?"

"A pre-trick trick," she suggested, brightening with an idea. "Okay, check this out." The detective pulled the towel apart in a businesslike fashion, forgetting briefly that it was part of the show for him. _Men and boobs_, she mused as his eyebrows shot up and his eyes fixated. He stopped blinking. _I don't get it, but it's handy_. Less so when she required his attention of course. "Castle, focus."

"I doubt it's possible to be more so."

"Up here," she corrected with an illustrating widening of her eyes.

"Technically this is up," he replied, still cemented on her chest, "compared to other parts of you."

"Uhn. Fine. I'm going to show you my time-travel ability."

"Huh? Uh, okay…"

Kate cleared her throat roughly, frowned. "Can you pour me some water first?"

The host reached blindly for her plastic glass nearby and missed, reached a little closer and still missed. He hit it with his knuckles on the next try and the cup fell to the floor with a bouncing series of clatters. It didn't even register in his blank expression. "Sorry, we're all out."

_Don't laugh_, she scolded herself, pursing her quivering lips together firmly and stifling her amusement. _He doesn't need that kind of encouragement_.

"Maybe we should just get this done before your eyes shrivel like raisins from lack of moisture." She lifted her arms, bent them at the elbows to gather up her hair and hold it en mass against the base of her neck. Her chest was brought proudly to attention as a result. "Poof," she chirped, "Twenty-three." She lowered her arms to her sides and felt her breasts rest naturally. "Poof. Thirty-three."

Rick tipped his head back, laughing loudly. His blue eyes were crinkled with mirth as he grinned and nodded, clapping in brief applause. "God that's good," he said, catching his breath, cheeks reddened.

She grinned with pleasure, bowed from the shoulders before gathering up her towel and closing it loosely.

Her partner's eyes made a sweeping circuit of what limited skin was now visible. It did not happen fast. The man roved her with decisive leisure, often swirling and doubling back, frequently lingering. When his attention finally returned to her eyes his were darker for the journey, each pupil a fathomless pool of approval. But he lingered where he stood, tilted his head slightly. "I was thinking over dinner: the last few days have been a little stressful for you. Why don't we just unwind tonight—I don't need more. Eat dessert. I made chocolate crepes with strawberries."

Kate was tired as recently as their conversation outside his door. The shower helped, and dinner was most certainly a win in terms of a restorative. He'd obviously been a busy man since her call that morning. Seeing a clear and tangible result of his happiness to welcome her home had made the late dinner even more appealing. Likewise, knowing he could be satisfied that she was back without needing her on her back as evidence only lent that scenario greater appeal.

_Wrap your male brain around that one if you can, babe._ What she said was: "Let me make some room. We'll come back to dessert later."

"You damn well better," her lover returned waspishly. "It took me three attempts to get them just right." A voiceless chuckle quivered through her, and his eyes narrowed with a small, slow smile. "I suppose they'll keep."

"Good," the word dripped off her tongue. "'Cause I won't. Bring my chilly little helpers, would you?"

"More honey-do," he grumbled with a huff of resignation.

She left her towel over the back of the stool.

* * *

_Oh God, oh God, oh God,_ he thought with barely contained glee, and dumped the contents of the tray into a solid silver ice pail. _Okay, just breathe, man._ "We're alright here," he told himself. "No—better than that: we're cool." Castle scowled at his unintended pun and dumped in the next tray of cubes. _We're calm and collected._ The author halted with the last tray in his grip and took a series of deep, soothing breaths. Too much excitement might ruin the mood. He needed to be firmly in control of himself; part of the thrill for his partner was taking it away from him bit by bit.

Oh how he savored her doing so.

Without warning the ice tray cracked sharply in his taut grip, splitting in a jagged line across the middle and sending cubes flying in disarray. "That is definitely not cool," he mourned aloud. A throaty hum of amusement arose, drawing his widening gaze to the bedroom doorway. Rebellious dark hair and half an oval of her fair face was present, peeking out at him. The glittering dark gemstone of one eye was narrowed with amusement. A long, bare leg appeared and crooked enticingly, stroking the doorjamb with the ball of her right foot.

Then she zipped out of sight again.

Castle swallowed thickly and gravitated towards her. He paused, returned for the ice bucket, and left again, grabbing her towel on the way. He did not run to the bedroom. No. _That is not what calm and collected men do._ With nonchalance he could only manufacture the author crossed the threshold into the more yellowed radiance of the master bedroom. A single, dimmed lamp glowed from the corner. Dancing wicks from several candles provided the rest of the light.

The Ice Cube Trick was aptly named. It was a trick, but the act of it unfolding could only be called magic. The performance required a handful of basic components: a deep, dark green spare bedspread, a modest quantity of ice, one enraptured audience member, and one gloriously nude Katherine Houghton Beckett.

_Check, check, check, and my goodness—check._

She watched him lay the towel upon the bed near her right hip, out of the way but within easy reach. The lengths of her legs rest demurely together. Her left hand was held aloft. As he looked on she grazed her side with the very tips of her fingernails, so lightly that not even a scant pallor of displaced blood resulted in their wake. Goosebumps did; they textured her like a message of sensitivity written in braille.

Their gazes met. She smiled just slightly, challengingly.

_ Rush of blood to the pelvic region—check._

"You remember the rules?" she posed, but her tone made it a statement as much as a question.

"Like I remember my own name," he confirmed.

Kate's smile, which hadn't faded from her eyes, reclaimed a matching home upon her lips. She liked this part—establishing guidelines. It lay at the very crux of the trick itself: control. Hers. So he wasn't surprised when she slowly moistened her lips, reached for a cube from the pail, and began explaining them again just to be sure.

The cube found a home upon on her midriff. It gleamed in the candlelight.

"When this falls off of my body, you shed an article of clothing." He smiled with a mixture of amusement, anticipation, and from a place inside that was thankfully far removed from the past when he was unacquainted with any of this. "Pay attention," his partner scolded mildly.

"You want me to pay attention to this long, smooth, pillar of satin perfection before me? Next you'll be instructing the night to be dark, the rose to bloom crimson."

"Mm," she hummed. "Literary foreplay."

"That's how I talk," he grumbled in self-defense, mildly embarrassed.

Slender shoulders quivered with humor, but by her expression it didn't seem to be solely at his expense. The woman confirmed as much by stating, "I definitely wasn't complaining."

Castle descended to sit on the edge of the bed. He leaned closer, lowering onto his elbows and easing in until his gaze was only several inches from her middle. A gleam of wetness marked another, faster moistening of her lips. She did not otherwise provoke him. "It's melting," he informed her.

"Fine, fine," Kate returned airily, "don't take my compliment then. If it makes you more attentive as I speak it's probably for the best anyway." Her eyes narrowed along with his, but she withheld her mirth in order to continue. "You're not allowed to touch. It's game over if you do."

"But I get free roam of the room otherwise, or I can sit on the edge of the bed like this." She met his gaze, arched an eyebrow that he took for permission to continue. "I'm allowed to view you from whatever angle I want. So nothing of you is hidden from me."

Her chest rose and lowered amidst a more deeply drawn breath. She rotated her hips in a slow, circular motion. The cube at her core moved in counterpoint, spreading a small puddle of its diminishing solidity. Kate stilled, said, "You _do_ remember. Good."

"Good," he echoed foolishly, unable to summon more embarrassment when she grinned broadly.

"Ready to begin?"

"Please," he replied, but growled the word.

Her reply was the sudden rise of her hips and ass from the bedspread. It happened like a wave: she lowered at her center even while lifting her back and shoulders. Melted water trickled in a squiggly stream at the center of her torso to form a line stretching her waist to the base of her throat. The ice slid across her body, keeping to that path like a train bound by rails. When she was confident of its course the sinuous waves of her lithe body rolled out before him in series, shoulders to ass. Her thigh muscles tensed to bear her weight. Alternatively, her fingers pressed into the blankets. The woman was hypnotic.

Previous experience didn't help: it still blew his mind. And she was just getting warmed up.

On the last wave her back arched more sharply than before. The cube sped down her front until at the last moment Kate gave a little lunge of her pelvis. The cube shot off of her smoothly shaven pubic mound like a downhill skier at a ramp, soaring away and clattering to the floor…who knew or cared where.

Hazel eyes sought his. She quirked an eyebrow and smiled meaningfully.

His shirt was discarded to the floor as though it were aflame.

"Such a cheater," Kate accused mildly. "No socks or shoes this time."

"You made me hate winter," he bitched, because last time they'd done this was unplanned and he'd been dressed to the nines in terms of combating the cold. It had taken _forever_ to get naked.

Beckett hummed an internal laugh at present, wiggled her eyebrows. "Dry me?"

It was his only chance to touch her while the game was ongoing. But he had to use the towel to do so, which was really just one more part of her teasing him. It was no substitute for flesh on flesh. Even so, he folded the towel on the bed next to her and lovingly pressed it to her figure. Dark eyes slid closed briefly as he swallowed the curves of her chest in the cotton terrycloth. Each nipple was slightly engorged from the attention when they emerged, subtle peaks he deeply yearned to bring to fullness with his mouth.

Her lips pursed and eased into a smile to behold whatever strained expression he was wearing.

"What a bitch," Castle simpered without conviction, and Beckett laughed aloud, a trilling of joy and playfulness that wasn't nearly a common enough occurrence. It only made him want her more.

The towel continued downward, following the watery trail to her belly, waist. He lingered at the conjunction of her lower half. Her legs were raised, knees swaying lightly as he worked. They eased apart fractionally as if daring him to peek at her temporarily forbidden fruit. He didn't—couldn't just then. But the aroma of her rose to him as nectar from a blossom; the singular and satisfyingly deep scent of prolonged arousal. It wound his lips into a brief, quivering snarl. Somehow the author kept himself to task, creating a 'clean slate' to work with—too much water made the ice more prone to go awry, and the task was challenging enough already.

The trick originated as a way of measuring her poise during yoga routines. That's what she'd said. _Just a little game I came up with_, she'd remarked off-handedly, _so I could keep score of my progress._ It was a quintessential expression of her determined desire for control—in this case of her own body.

Watching the ice glide to and fro across her undulating figure, he found it difficult to put his overall impression into words. _Amazing._ No. _Yippie!_ Good enthusiasm, but no. _Goo-goo, gah-gah._ Apt, but most definitely not. His eyes widened slightly, staring unblinkingly as her arms rose to bracket the curves of her chest, deepening the valley between her breasts which her turning and angling upper half had the ice cube exploring. The berry-hued buds at their tips were fully ripe, the areolas puffy, textured, and glazed with wetness. "Uhn," he moaned in protest. Her breathy hum of amusement suggested the hunt for the proper words must go on.

When the cube was allowed to descend again it slid all the way into the conjunction of her coltish legs. Kate straightened them slowly so that her ankles hovered inches above the covers. Strained abdominal muscles rose to prominence. The woman arched her lower back enough to dislodge the chill passenger onto her merged thighs. Rick sat up straighter in anticipation as the cube slid down their length, nestled in the valley of flesh. He gaped like a fool when it coasted smoothly up and along the length of her right shin and ankle to be caught and held in place against her toes.

It was comparable to having rolled a marble along the length of a knife's edge.

"Fuck me," Castle spouted in disbelief, pointing an accusing finger in case she hadn't seen the injustice unfold.

Beckett laughed again and used her elbows to angle her upper half comfortably. Shadows pooled in the hollows at the base of her throat and around her clavicles. "Not just yet." With the cant of one eyebrow and a matching, casual flick of her foot the ice clattered to the floor. "But we're definitely getting warmer."

The author wasn't a prude, but in the presence of such finely honed physicality he felt a little awkward in his maleness. The dark-haired woman was lengths, valleys, and sweeping curves—tempting plains of light and mysterious shallows of darkness. The bending of her knees and the crossing of one leg over the other was a poetic expression of patient interest. Meanwhile, he was all hard lines and force, a crime against gracefulness as he pushed, stooped, tugged and finally flailed his legs angrily out of confinement. Huffing, he faced her in only his navy silk briefs, which bulged indecently. Blue eyes met hazel and his cheeks colored faintly. He itched with the sheer lack of elegance, scratched lightly at one elbow. He lifted his free hand in a lame wave. "Hi."

Kate chuckled throatily with haunting attractiveness. "Dry me—if that's even possible."

_Wow. Wet, huh? Wet is good._ The mild sense of shame dissipated. Somehow she consistently found ways to put him at ease.

In a very decisive way his fiancée did the opposite too: as he leisurely dried her body with the towel she snuck her fingers into the hems of his boxers, skittering her nails against his thighs. The no-touching rule did not apply to her. _Naturally. _The defining quality of his masculinity was fueled by a rush of blood from his pounding heart. It stirred within the prison of silk as if reaching out to Kate in kind. The novelist issued a pitiable sound in his throat that sounded suspiciously akin to a whine.

"Aw," Kate lamented with a furrowed brow, but also smiled. "Look, he wants to play. Poor little guy."

"Hey now," Rick grumbled, but she was already wincing, eyebrows lifting over a cutely rueful expression. "Stop flattering me, would ya?"

"Hush. You know what I meant."

"We have plenty of ice left," he observed while leaning in again. "And only one more article to lose." The author carefully set his palms against the mattress. He didn't touch her sides, but was close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. Her eyes dipped to his mouth, her lips parting. He felt the breeze of slightly labored breathing, the hitch that each one was punctuated by from the pounding of her heart. Surely she felt the same from him. "Make it last for me," he told her. It was both a command and a plea. "I want to see you move, Kate."

Humor, always a welcome friend in their midst, departed. It was less a trick or game from there on.

Years of practicing yoga and martial arts had instilled in his lover an uncommon attunement to her body. When she turned over upon the bed in the middle of everything to lay on her stomach the ice didn't fall. It dispersed slowly as she guided it up and down the length of her spine. The rule was: if a cube melted in the process she used another without drying off first—increasing the difficulty. Maybe it did so, but half of the next cube was spent swirling in a circle, using her shoulder-blades and the angle of her back to keep it aloft. When it slipped off of her left shoulder, nearest him, it sailed all the way down her arm into her palm. Hands were not allowed, and she dropped it pointedly upon the floor in case he needed any reminding that he'd just been given a cue.

His silk briefs joined the pile. With no clothing left to sacrifice, the next fallen cube would signal the end of the struggle to only watch. Her loss of control was their carnal victory.

Castle lifted a cube, keeping it in his fingertips and meeting her eyes from over it. She looked…ready: slightly flushed, breathing accelerated. Kate lifted onto her hands and knees upon the bed, nodded for him to proceed. The author walked around to the foot of the bed behind her, taking in the view as it changed along the way. A hint of color rose in her cheeks when she turned to look back at him. There's naked, and then there's being laid bare to the other person's unwavering and lingering scrutiny. The submissiveness implied by her position wasn't lost on her. It was interesting though, because he didn't feel dominant at all. He didn't need to.

Rick couldn't touch her, but there were loopholes to every rule.

She hissed softly when he touched the ice cube to the back of her right knee—just the cube itself. Kate sighed as he raised it against her slowly. She eased forward some as he crested the curve of her ass, a hint of demureness to that. But after two long, slow circles around the circumference of her derrière she pressed back into him, trusting and indulgent. The muscles in her shoulders flexed as he eased towards the center, and she swore softly to feel the cube pause at the base of her center. He traced her sex in a single, slow line. It elicited another, deeper sigh.

Kate pulled away abruptly though, rolling onto her back. She looked pissed in a promising way while scooting closer to the foot of the bed. "Put it down," she ordered.

He did, at the center of her chest, and leaned back with a small smirk.

His fiancee sat up though, and it sped right down her front to be flung from her pubic mound like the first one.

He caught it out of the air on instinct, blinked at it in mild surprise.

"Castle," she snapped.

"Oh! Right." He dropped it to the floor. A grin captured him when he looked back up at her. "Hey, I win."

"Yeah, yeah. Good for you. Get over here and start celebrating it."


End file.
